The Derivative Reality Emulative Actuality Machine
by Emanium
Summary: Captain Kurotsuchi's new machine is essentially 'dreams come true'. Users get to relive their dreams in all their senses, as if it's happening in reality. Rangiku convinces Rukia to give the machine a try.


Rukia shuts her eyes, willing her thoughts away.

She knows too well that she cannot shut out the tingling sensations traveling down her spine as he nibbles on her sensitive earlobe, or the slight shudders of her body in response to his gentle caresses. The person before her, touching her, feeling her, sharing this moment with her, is as vivid, as charming, as he was to her every day of her life, though what he does, or what he allows himself to ever do, is entirely different. She struggles between forcing herself to remember the differences and succumbing to the temptations of forgetting them.

Lazily he traces the curves of her body from her chest to her hips, breathing in her scent as he kisses her ear, her neck, her shoulder blade, making a trail of light feathery kisses on her skin, stealing her breath away. His touches are brisk, fleeting, like a dragonfly's touch on a pond, brief enough to entice her, firm enough to please her, soft enough to comfort her. If his touches aren't enough, that deep enchanting voice will haunt her till the end of time.

"You're beautiful, Rukia," he compliments her, dragging her name out syllable by syllable, tasting every sound thoroughly. Big round eyes stare back at him in momentary disbelief, and for a moment he is lost in those captivating wells of violet, lost in those frames of long thick eyelashes, having forgotten that it is not in his place to glimpse at those windows to her soul. _But what wonderful windows they are,_ he muses.

Her blush visibly deepens, not only at the content of his comment but at his deep silky voice, the same voice vibrating with knowledge, experience, and authority, the low rumble pulsating against her eardrums, his gentle breaths stirring whirls of heated moisture against her shivering body. She turns away hurriedly as the white mist dissipates, embarrassment filling her vacant mind. He seems to find amusement in toying with her name as much as he could torture her physically.

Without warning, he pulls her in and bites her shoulder hard, sinking his teeth into her porcelain skin, drawing a soft moan of pleasure as she parts her swollen lips in surprise. He hears a startled gasp before she digs her sharp fingernails into his back.

He pulls away momentarily, an expression of genuine astonishment on his flawlessly handsome face.

"What?" She stares at him somewhat defensively, though her body is beyond frustrated by the untimely pause. A streak of liquid flows onto her fingers. Realization dawns on her. "Oh," she mutters, stroking the bloody claw marks on the length of his back, "Oops."

"It's only fair," he reassures her as he recovers from his initial surprise at her accidental payback. If his original impression of her in bed is a submissive, docile creature – and she was, in their first few meetings – she has easily corrected his beliefs.

She quickly steals a curious glance at his face, before he grabs her hair and locks her in roughly to work kisses down her neck, tasting her delicate skin, revering in its pampered texture. His other hand has reached her small waist, diligently untying her obi. As he sneaks his way down beneath her kimono, his fingers start tracing her the lace of her undergarments. She jerks instinctively, mild discomfort manifesting at the back of her mind.

_A kimono?_ She finds herself wondering. Her reaction must have been off-putting, for she was quick enough to catch the unfamiliar smirk, barely noticeable, completely disappearing from his face.

Yet again he draws her closer with his hand on the back of her neck, this time boldly placing his lips on hers. He immediately senses that she is startled at the contact, with her cheeks burning and her muscles tense, uncertain how to react. Shutting his eyes, he tilts his head, perfecting a slow, passionate kiss, willing her to reciprocate. He could feel her heart pounding as her chest heaves heavily against his, and almost see the blood racing in her veins as her pulse quickens. For a moment, he contemplates the possibility of her fainting in his arms, but a hesitant tug at the opening of his hakama chases his worries away. The next second he feels an experimental brush of her tongue against his, then a stronger, more confident response as she presses closely against his broad chest, smoothly threading her fingers through his long raven hair, her hesitation vanishing as he deepens the kiss.

A warm finger pulls against the thin fabrics of her undergarments. She feels a playful brush against her last barrier, teasing her right at the opening, putting her awkwardly on the spot the way she imagines he would between their more private exchanges. Naturally, she fails to summon her denial with her preoccupied mouth, so a stronger, more assertive touch exerts itself on her sensitive flesh. Stifling another moan of satisfaction, she arches her back impulsively at the new stimulation. His finger continues to explore her sensitive spot, while his tongue starts exploring the depths of her mouth. Sweat trickles down her forehead, a warm mixture of salty and sweet cooling with the breeze. Once playful and shallow, the kiss has evolved into a breathless exchange, and gratifying compensation.

Yet resounding within her are not echoes of sweet deception, but hushed warnings, racing through her like hot pulsing blood, trundling laboriously with no intention of stopping. With every fleeting intake of oxygen, she bites down her intrinsic dissatisfaction… with everything.

Her eyes flutter open, so swiftly that her subconsciousness has yet to hide her hesitations.

"Nii-sama," she utters dreamily between her few precious gasps of air.

Abruptly he withdraws, his flawless features contorted in a short-lived expression of agony. For a moment, Rukia looks up dazed, her mind still caught in the midst of passion. Her momentary discontent has quickly submerged beneath her overriding confusion, but he has seen enough to realize, occasion after occasion, that as powerful as he is in this magnificent imaginary world, he is but a replacement – a truly powerless replacement, unable to lift her unhappiness and unable to grant her happiness.

Between her transitions from confusion to hurt, he stands up straight, picks her up with ease, and turns, his movements frighteningly decisive and his expression once again unreadable. Before she could reorient herself, she felt the softness of a mattress cushion her fall.

He leans dangerously close to her, his forearms propped on either side of her head, supporting his weight as he stares intensely into her eyes.

For the first time since this madness has begun, she begins to take in his attire, or lack thereof. His silver-white scarf has just fallen off the edge of his table. His white captain's haori must have been discarded somewhere, though she has trouble remembering when or where he took it off. Bit by bit, she recognizes that his Kenseikan is missing, that his dark free-flowing hair is now framing his strong jawline. Beneath that, his hakama is half-open, the gaps between the loose fabrics revealing his chiseled chest. Smooth creamy skin, as if he has never been to war.

As nervous as she ought to be, she realizes she isn't. Not even at the sight of her half-naked adoptive brother.

Suspicions flood into her mind, chewing away at the remaining fractions of delusion she strived to maintain. The miniscule her living in her brain must be frantically searching the cabinets for any hint of an open window throughout the event, but strangely she fails to conjure any image of dawn or dusk. She looks around, assessing the ambient light, but the light condenses into a luminous white haze before her. The furniture and the room itself seems to be disappearing at a rate faster than she can phrase her queries.

She makes the mistake of meeting his eyes again in panic, and this time, she couldn't look away, couldn't escape those searing gray eyes, which now seem to be the only familiar things she could remember among all that surrounded her.

He holds her gaze for several solid minutes. The heated traces of his more primitive desires have cooled, in their place strands of loneliness and suppressed longing have manifested. Ironically, his carefully concealed emotions are betrayed by the brittleness of his hardened eyes. Despite being captured by his unwavering gaze, she is not blind to the melancholy drenched in those rich inky pools of gray, which only serve to remind her that all is nothing but an illusion.

A faint smile, not quite reaching his eyes, appears on his face. "One would think an _illusion _cannot be sentimental," he states in his doppelganger's deep, dispassionate voice, albeit somewhat wistfully.

She realizes a moment too late that he held her gaze to prolong their meeting, for fear that she will never come back to him. She realizes that _he _realizes, too, that _that_ will one day be true, and it may be much sooner than he wishes.

_What tormenting salvation she is, to breathe life and steal life away, from one as hollow as a mere reflection of a heartless soul, _he thinks.

Like water ripples gradually merging into a dark bottomless pond, what remains of his silhouette rumples and dissolves into an incomprehensible blur.

Rukia opens her eyes, only to be met by the ceiling she saw before she fell asleep.

* * *

><p>[FLASHBACK: TWO WEEKS AGO] RUKIA'S POV<p>

"This is my greatest invention to date!" The Twelfth Division Captain exclaimed. He seemed extremely satisfied as he watched the profits surge onscreen. Indeed, his gains had greatly exceeded his expectations, and there had not been a single miscalculation to date.

"Yes, Mayuri-sama." His lieutenant stood dutifully behind him, hands clasped tightly together, her face impassive as usual.

Sitting in front of the pair, members of the Shinigami Research Institute were typing feverishly on their keyboards. New numerical data continued to pop up onscreen. The numbers translated into percentages, graphs, and diagrams.

"Within one week, a hundred and fifty eight shinigami have sampled the newest model, and sixty three percent have been recurring customers," Mayuri rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he read the projection. Then he concluded, "We should promote this properly across Seireitei."

"Yes, Mayuri-sama."

"Anyway, this is wonderful! Who would have thought that virtual reality machines in the real world have such an appeal to the dead? I am a genius!"

"Absolutely, Mayuri-sama."

"Not to mention that these machines only worked because I have gathered sufficient data from all members of Gotei 13 throughout the past fifty years. I should congratulate myself for my hard work," he suddenly turned to his lieutenant, "Nemu, the Japanese dictionary plug-in will rust if you intend for it to waste away the way you do now."

"Yes, Mayuri-sama."

"Ah yes," Mayuri clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms excitedly, "We should start making posters! Now where is that human device… Nemu! Did you put away my Photoshop? Nemu!"

"Excuse me, Mayuri-sama," Nemu approached him with a seemingly terrified shinigami dangling from her unbelievably strong clutch, "Machine 24 has malfunctioned. This man claims he cannot visualize his dreams and asks for a refund."

"Refund?" Mayuri narrowed his eyes. The shinigami felt cold, heavy sweat drip from his forehead, realizing a moment too late that he made the worst possible request to the worst possible person one could file a complaint to. The captain eyed him irritably, as if he was staring at an ant with the misfortune to overstep the boundaries of his backyard, debating whether he should step on it once and for all, or to squeeze its blood into a small container for future experimental use. Finally, Mayuri decided, "We do not give refunds, Nemu. Begin the liquefaction process."

"Of the machine? Mayuri-sama."

"Of the shinigami, you idiot!" He rolled his eyes, unable to comprehend her line of thinking. "Outstanding specimens must be eliminated! We cannot afford to ruin our perfect experimentation results to accommodate the selfish wishes of these uneducated buffoons!"

"Yes, Mayuri-sama." Nemu bowed obediently.

The shinigami's face turned accurately into the color of ashes upon realizing what fate had befallen him. "No, no, no, no, no!" He cried, struggling to escape the lieutenant's metal grip. Nemu hit a red button on the wall and the pair disappeared into one of Mayuri's underground laboratories.

"Have mercy—" the annoying pleads reverberated in Mayuri's ears.

"Now what should I do about the posters?"

* * *

><p><em>Knock.<em>

"Captain Hitsugaya, it's Kuchiki Rukia. I have some documents from Captain Ukitake that need your attention." Rukia waited patiently. No answer came from behind the closed door.

_Knock knock._

"Rukia-chan!" A high-pitched female voice interrupted her wait. Before she could react, Rangiku tackled her to the ground in a big hug as papers flew everywhere in a crash.

"Ouch…" Rukia rubbed the back of her head that had collided with the hard timber surface. She should have expected this prior to entering the Tenth Division… "Matsumoto-san!"

"Good morning, Rukia-chan! If you're looking for my captain, he's out patrolling the real world, so he won't be back until noon. How about you leave the documents to me and I'll give them to him when he comes back?" Rangiku bent down and picked up the scattered documents, stacking them together and offered to take the remaining sheets from Rukia.

"Oh, that would be great. Thanks." Rukia handed the sheets over, grimacing at the sheets that were folded or slightly torn during the crash. Thank goodness these were not intended for or from the Sixth Division. Her perfectionist brother would undoubtedly rewrite all these documents just to get rid of the unsightly corners.

"Say, your captain expects you to be back _with _the documents, right?" Rangiku shot a cunning glance her way, "So you're free now?"

"That's the general idea."

"So," Rangiku narrowed her eyes again, leaning into her to assess the sincerity of Rukia's response by her reaction, "Have you tried the DREAM yet?"

"Um, I don't usually have dreams at night," Rukia lied carefully.

"No! Not that," Rangiku's smile widened, oblivious to Rukia's caution once she realized Rukia had misinterpreted her question, "so you haven't tried it yet?"

Rukia shook her head in confusion, "I'm not quite sure what 'it' is referring to, honestly."

Rangiku's eyes widened in surprise. She looked as if she was going to blurt out, "Yes! An unknowing victim! I'm in luck!" Instead, she straightened her back and put her hands on her hips, in the manner of a self-acclaimed expert, "How can you not know? It's been the hottest thing since the start of September!"

"But September's just begun—" Rukia protested.

Rangiku dragged her into the corridors before she could finish her sentence.

"DREAM – Derivative Reality Emulative Actuality Machine," Rukia read aloud from a poster stuck on the bulletin board, "What?"

"Says here," Rangiku cleared her throat and read aloud the slogan in smaller print underneath the title, "A machine derived from reality to emulate actuality," though she seemed to have confused herself reading aloud that explanation. Uncertainly, she added, "Both phrases mean essentially the same thing."

"That's not really helping. And this is a really ugly poster," Rukia commented.

"That I agree. Even Captain Kuchi— Ahem, even Renji could do a better job," Rangiku stopped herself in time, swallowing her insult before Rukia had the chance to take it all personally – it being the _collective_ insult towards Kuchiki Byakuya's artistic talents, Kuchiki Byakuya's sense of beauty, hence Kuchiki Rukia's same sense of beauty, and hence also Kuchiki Rukia's almost equivalent artistic talents. She inwardly sighed, wondering why adoptive inheritance worked most profoundly on the most unnecessary and undesirable characteristic of the stoic man, instead of passing onto Rukia his skills in transforming his Bankai into eighteen ostentatious stages.

Oblivious to Rangiku's marginal save, Rukia squinted at the smallest print along the bottom margin. "It says here that it's three thousand kan per trial?" She turned, looking suspiciously at Rangiku.

"Ahaha, yes, of course, I just noticed the price!" Rangiku laughed guiltily. "Well, I spent this month's pay on several trials last week, so… please?"

* * *

><p>"What does it do?" Rukia whispered to Rangiku as they entered the building. The Shinigami Research Institute had never been this crowded before. There were queues everywhere, leading up to long-winded corridors that seemed to disappeared into smaller rooms. "Don't they have work to do?" Rukia wondered.<p>

"You'll see. And it's safe, don't worry," Rangiku answered, "I wouldn't bring you here if it isn't. Hell, I wouldn't have been able to find you at all if I've turned into goo."

Rukia looked around. Beyond the crowdedness, something about the Institute seemed off.

"It's nicer now, isn't it?" Rangiku nudged her with her elbow and winked.

"Well, it sort of is. I remember this place to be… nothing short of nasty." Rukia's last visit was a straight trip towards Nemu and another straight trip towards the door, actively ignoring the creepy specimens surrounding her, drowning in disgusting green slime and enclosed in cylindrical glass containers. This time, the specimens were concealed elsewhere, and there was a hotel-like atmosphere at the reception.

"As far as I know, a mysterious benefactor donated a huge sum of money to this place. I have to say the renovation is coming along," Rangiku lowered her voice, grinning, "In fact, I'm ninety-nine percent sure that benefactor is Captain Kyoraku."

"How did you know?" Rukia asked, curious.

Rangiku shrugged. "For one, he comes here every day, and he's a high-ranking noble so he's got plenty of money to spare," she sneaked a glance at Rukia, "Besides, for what's offered here, it doesn't take a genius to deduce who's likely most addicted to these guilty pleasures besides… well, me."

"Well, well, well," Mayuri just spotted the pair as they turned the corner, having passed the reception where Nemu mechanically registered their names and collected six thousand kan from Rukia. "If it isn't Matsumoto Rangiku and Kuchiki Rukia, our first lieutenants today."

"Good morning, Captain Kurotsuchi," Rukia greeted him politely. Matsumoto, though unwillingly, resisted the urge to add "freak" to her greeting.

"Come with me, the new branch is dedicated specifically to our most valued guests," he paused for dramatic effect, "Captains and lieutenants of Gotei 13." He turned away, walking quickly towards the right wing.

"There's a branch for seated officers?" Rukia repeated in awe, jumbling the terms yet again, her mind still having trouble acknowledging the fact that she had finally become a lieutenant after all these years of trying and failing.

Needless to say, the captain paid no mind to her inner turmoil, though he easily captured her mistake. Mayuri snapped coldly, "I said 'captains and lieutenants', Kuchiki. One would think you would have grasped a fraction of your brother's intelligence over the years."

"Hmph," Rangiku uttered defensively. Rukia lowered her head, mumbling an apology.

"Here we are," Mayuri stopped abruptly at the end of the corridor. They entered a lobby with six wooden doors on one side, and another door titled 'VIP' on the right end. The floor was carpeted, the ceiling brightly lit, the walls decorated with ornamental fittings. There was an expensive-looking stone-carved table standing at the center of the room, with a vase of fresh roses sitting above.

"I don't know how many specimens he sold for this to happen, but this definitely looks above four-stars," Rangiku looked around in disbelief.

"Yes, impressive," the captain disregarded her compliment, only to add enthusiastically, "but more so is our Derivative Reality Emulative Actuality Machine! Now step into one of those unoccupied rooms. I will broadcast the instructions when you're in there." He stood next to the vase of flowers like a statue, his features contorted into a sneer full of ill anticipation.

Rangiku easily strolled towards the leftmost door. "Relax, Rukia, it's gonna be fun!" She winked mischievously, noting in amusement the doubt lodged in Rukia's eyes. Her singsong voice disappeared with her behind the door.

Rukia froze, immediately recounting the only remaining people in the lobby. She quickly entered the room to the right of Rangiku's and shut the door behind her.

* * *

><p>The room Rukia stood in was actually quite elegantly decorated, though incredibly simplistic. She looked around, taking in the equipment suspended from the ceiling on the four corners, that looked like a blend between real world CCTV-cameras that Ichigo introduced her to, and the laser blasters she saw in Kon's manga. Either way, these things did not look like they belonged in Seireitei and she would rather not question their presence in the Institute.<p>

"Hello, Kuchiki Rukia," Mayuri's voice blasted through the speakers.

Rukia jumped visibly at his sudden intrusion. In the blink of an eye, she had flash stepped to the side of the room with her back against the wall, her hand instinctively placed on the hilt of her Zanpakuto.

"Reserve your alertness for real emergencies, Kuchiki. This is a prerecorded message with automated modifications," he said dryly. The volume had dropped noticeably since the first message, to a degree of loudness that actually sounded recognizable at close range.

"Yes, Captain," Rukia replied, loosening her grip on her Zanpakuto. She had not had a good night's sleep and her anxiety is building rapidly with today's events.

Mayuri, or rather, the computer speaking for him seemed exasperated, "You do not reply to automated broadcasts, Kuchiki."

Even through the speakers, Rukia could hear the infuriated sigh coming from the recording. She consciously gulped her next reply down.

"Lie down on the bed. The trial will proceed as soon as you are ready." He added, as a way of explanation, "We aim not to delay experiments as the next valuable specimen may be waiting to be tested with this set of equipment."

Inside the room, Rukia walked towards the bed, all the while reassuring herself that Rangiku would not take them to somewhere that could render her permanently disabled, maimed, dead, or worse, liquefied. Hopefully not. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the softness of the mattress, the smooth texture of the bed sheets, the questionable cleanliness of it all. She could not help thinking, "Not bad for an experiment." She lied down, adjusting her posture, at the same time feeling the pillow behind her head self-adjusting its height for her comfort.

As she calmed herself down with deep breaths, the air smelled almost sweet to her nose. A scent reminiscent of… cherry blossoms. She closed her eyes, letting her memories guide her to better places. Her mind landed on the meandering path among colorful flower beds and koi ponds, leading onto the short timber bridge, where she fed the koi when her brother was busy. The sky was painted in brilliant shades of orange, on one side she watched the semi-eclipsed sun wither beyond the horizon, on the other the crescent moon emerged between parting clouds. She strolled barefooted around the garden, tugging on stubborn tussocks of green in her aimless tread. Cherry blossom petals carried themselves gracefully in the wind, some following her at her back, some guiding her at her front. Eventually, she came to the oldest tree, its aged trunk and branches carefully concealed behind concrete walls and closed doors, a beautiful picturesque sight reserved solely for the viewing pleasure of the head of Sereitei's most respected noble family.

Rukia turned towards the main house, half-expecting someone to be watching her from afar.

A man wearing a subdued blue kimono was leaning casually against the nearest timber post, his usual indifferent composure infiltrated by an almost negligible hue of saturation. Just the mesmerizing ghost of a smile had hit her with nostalgia, for bliss she had never experienced before.

She was not disappointed.


End file.
